Trust. It all comes down to Trust. She’s admitted to trusting me, all of us in
fact. Not in so much as words, but she’s told us. She’s come to us for help
looking for Mulder. She’s trusted us with the news of her unborn son. She’s
shared fears and knowledge of the government with us. And now, for eight years
I have been betraying her trust.
I should have told her years ago...at the very least when Melissa died. We
could have mourned together. But I was just too ashamed.

When Scully was in the hospital, returned as Mulder puts it, we all went to see
her. We just thought it was best to go one at a time. She didn’t really know
us
yet, and besides all three of us at one time can be a little much to take. So I
went on the third day. I figured no one else would have been in the room, but I
was pleasantly mistaken. I know it’s improper of me to find a pleasantry in
visiting a friend in the hospital, especially when she appears to be on the
brink of death. But it was pleasant. There she sat, diligently at her sister’s
side. My first glimpse of Melissa Scully. Her head was hung down, and she
didn’t seem to notice me. At least I didn’t think she did, so I planned on
slipping out of the room the same way I slipped in.
“Byers?” She perked her head up, “You don’t have to go. She wants you to
stay.”
The statement surprised me. She knew my name, and seemed to suggest that Scully
had told her. Langly warned me about her. Said she was some “new aged chick”
and really freaked him out. Talking about how Scully thanked him for coming
even if she hadn’t expected a visit from him, or any of us. Now that says
something, to freak out Langly. Even Mulder never freaked out Langly.
I turned back to face her, and Scully, “I didn’t want to disturb you. You
seemed like you were...”
She wiped under her eyes and smiled faintly. She had a beautiful smile.
“We’re
doing fine,” She patted Scully’s hand, “Aren’t we Dana?” Her voice
cracked a
little and so did her bright face. She buried her face again.
I rushed to her side, handing a handkerchief to her.
“Thanks,” she laughed. I’m not sure if it was at herself or at me for
carrying
a handkerchief in the 90’s.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” I asked, taking notice of how red and
swollen
her eyes were.
She smiled again, “You’re everything she says you are.”
I’ll admit, she was on the weird side. But so is Mulder and, I guess we are
too.
“It’s good to know she’s saying nice things,” I know my smile had to
seem like
I was humouring her, “She is saying nice things, right?”
A small laugh escaped her, “Of course Dana wouldn’t say anything bad about
anyone,” and again she cried.
I patted her back until she calmed again.
“I’m really sorry,” she apologised, regaining herself, “I shouldn’t be
this
negative, she might take it as a sign,” she glanced at her younger sister,
than
up to me.
“You want to get a coffee or something, and I don’t mean this hospital
stuff,”
I suggested, motioning toward the small pile of styrofoam cups that had formed
on the bed-side table and the state she was in. I don’t think she had left
Scully’s side in hours, or even days.
She took a moment to think it over, gave Scully’s hand a squeeze and agreed.

We went to a little, close by coffee-house. It was pretty busy, but much more
comfortable than a hospital room. The change in atmosphere seemed rejuvenate
her, but she still seemed tired and sad. Understandably of course.
We sat in silence for a while. She sipped from her cup and I, surprising
myself, watched her.
“Thank you,” she spoke first, “I needed this.”
“I thought you might,” Okay, so I’m not the best at conversation
sometimes. I
had just met her and it was a difficult time. So I was unsure of just what to
say. I just swirled the coffee around in its cup.
She reached across the table and took my hand, “Are you alright?” Her eyes
searched in mine, “How well did you know my sister?”
I thought back on our few meetings. What a first impression we must have made
on her. Our rag-tag trio. “Not well,” an honest reply. I didn’t know her
yet as
anything more than Mulder’s sceptical partner, but there was great respect in
her convictions.
She still seemed to search, still holding on to my hand, “I can sense
something...” It was more like she was just talking, but not really to me,
"...missing.”
I squeezed her hand back, nodding. I’m not really sure just what it was that
was missing, or anything. But I did feel that something was missing, something
between the two of us.

It all happened so fast after that. And I was the most surprised at myself.
I’m
just not the kind of guy who does that sort of thing. It wasn’t me. Well, it
was, but it wasn’t. It all unfolded with out my participation. Actually, I did
participate physically, just not mentally.
How an innocent coffee ended up this way, I have no idea. I’ve come to believe
that it was just that we both needed something. And it just happened to be each
other, for one time anyway. We had made it to a motel. She said she was staying
there while Scully was in the hospital. It was just easier than driving up
everyday. And there we were, in her room, desperately seeking to fill what was
missing.

The next I heard of her was the news of her death, her murder. Mulder broke the
news as more of an off comment, explaining why he--and Scully hadn’t been
around. We all expressed our sympathy for Scully and her family. But I felt
like something had been taken, and couldn’t say anything about it. The way he
said it hurt a bit. Not that he would have known it effected me. No one knew.
No one knows now. That’s when I should have told her. Than, at least, I could
have...we could have mourned together or something. But how do you tell someone
something like that anyway? It wasn’t the time to say something like that.
Still I could have been there for Scully.
Been there for the woman who now puts all her trust in me while Mulder’s
missing. A woman who believes we are the only ones she can trust. A woman’s
whose trust I’ve betrayed almost the whole time I’ve known her. A woman who
couldn’t trust me if she knew I had a one-nightstand with her sister. It all
comes down to it, breaking it and fighting to regain it. Trust.